These poems are from an early Coventry magazine - The BROADGATE GNOME which ran c 1970 - 1971. It was broader than in scope than HOBO. To quote their site "The Broadgate Gnome site name comes from an 'underground' magazine published around 1970 - 71 and based in 'Gnome House', Humber Rd, Stoke. It contained articles on local bands, venues, politics and Coventry's 'freak scene' generally." Their site mainly features a Band Directory - strong on Coventry bands for the 60's and some from the 70's. Some of the Hobo Band list (to be blogged soon) is on there but only the first part. Hobo picked up where Gnome left off but concentrated more on the music / arts scene. As the Gnome said of -
Hobo
"Similar to Broadgate Gnome, poems, local bands with slightly more emphasis on music and community network. Edited by Trev Teasdel, Pete Waterman wrote a soul page, there were features on the local songwriters and clubs and more of a 'get out and do it' attitude.
c. 1973-4"
Here is the first poem from the Broadgate Gnome -
AN EXPERIMENT WITH TRADITIONAL RHYME AND STRONG STRESS METER
Dave Clarke
From Broadgate Gnome 1971
City you cannot last
Nor must you think that time gone past
Will remember you and say
This is how it should be today.
You have no roots, only bricks and mortar.
Conceived in conflict, concerned with slaughter
And shall your offspring, sons and daughters
Pay homage, or plot your doom
Perhaps in the fields at
Their eyes will turn towards your
Shadowed graves and marvel how once
Men lived like slaves.
In the depths of your swollen womb
Perhaps in green grey gardens through
Mirrored moons
They will sit peacefully and reflect
Upon your ghost forms, cold and derelict
None here will mourn your mutilated form
Nor yet will fevered eyes still gaze
In tomorrow’s dawn.
Upon your profit priests in suited grey
Atheist children all robed in nature
They will laugh aloud to read your beasts
Yet see no traces
Of your golden age of your super race
No gods or ghosts will walk this
Wretched ruin of yours
No angry groans or tortured moans will
Pour molten shapes, mutilated forms
That writhe in fear
No super races here
Only the watchful glare of shapeless
Moon and the eternal gloom of your
Quick, unlit tomb.
ON MOVEMENT AND PURPOSE
Spilling from the city's noise they come,
Slipping past evening's first opportune hour.
From the swollen abdomen of the factory some
Drone their weary way, through gate and tower,
Belched out at five.
They, faceless for a time, molten seep
Into human channels, consumed deep
In the irregular flood, at first a patterned tide
Split only by an aching, frenzied halt,
As, like tributaries unperceived, others join, match stride
-Ooze their thoughtless path, eager to assault
Drawn blank in an organic ritual.
Happy those who conjure imagination
Avoiding the fact that they bear no relation
To cloth arms and unknown feet
That move annoyingly close, almost familiar,
with their own purposeful, aimed retreat.
Many tread homeward with ideas similar
Hurrying towards some mystic meet.
Others from college, peacock daubed, set apart,
Flaunt homeward, promiscuously apparent for an early start.
Outcasts but design these, yet not quite free
from economies, or traditions or laws, or all that abstract oppose
The natural instinct. Chained in society;
Yet suspended for a time in freedom's awkward pose,
They, warlike, gimmick a possible future.
Condemned to learn, no tax form claims them or cares
Subtle in her wooing, society hides her snares
Challenging and extreme in her ultimate offering.
Parallel, roars man and machine
linked in dash-daring unison.
Revved hearts spurt mean
Grimaces, turned to defy, shun
Limits with limitless power.
Tailored for destruction, they combine in one
Machine, motor, mind and gun.
With fear streamlined in oiled silence
Watch how they move, slip gear, accelerate away
Substitute war or violence
with symbol. Linked thus, they may,
Fuse metal and power with hand and feet
Hide stature on cushion and seat,
'Till mover and moved blurr totally.
But more likely, they will use the thrill
of combining, creation and will,
To risk a future -
To answer in part the constant need
For measuring life, in space and speed
Seeking pleasure or praise or lust.
Watch though, how death rides too a wheelspin away
Rears at a junction, reducing move or stay
To mere instinct. Til machine and man
Lack purpose, unless the purpose be....
To eliminate the lapse between A and C
Between movement, pause and movement.
Dave Clarke - Coventry 1970
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